


True Love only happens once (or twice)

by Tedah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, HP Triad!Fest, Happy Ending, Hermione goes to Sofia university, International Travel, M/M, No Angst, Polyamory, Pre-Poly, Quidditch Player Ron Weasley, Relationship Negotiation, Ron and Hermione are just fools, Viktor is a fool in love, ambient magic, let Ron be a jock, rom com, why does Sofia have so many stadiums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedah/pseuds/Tedah
Summary: When Ron gets the opportunity of a lifetime to train with the Bulgarian national quidditch team, Hermione tags along to diversify her education.As the seasons change over Sofia some old feelings resurface and new ones get the chance to be born.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum/Ron Weasley, Viktor Krum/Ron Weasley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 62
Collections: HP Triad!Fest Presents: Poly!Mini Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to thank Amaliabones for the amazing prompt. I was so happy I got to play with it.  
> J for being always by my side as an invaluable and inflexible beta.  
> F and K for the added reality check. In the end it felt like a real group effort.  
> The biggest credit goes to our amazing mod Lex for running this gorgeous fest.  
> and now, without further ado, onto the story.

Hermione checked their luggage one more time, made sure they had their passports, all her university documents, Ron's gear all packed securely…

"Ronald, if you don't hurry up we're going to miss our Portkey!" she called towards the stairs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I was just leaving a note for Harry, so he knows about the house when he comes to take care of things." Ron grabbed his wand and the bag with his Quidditch gear then hooked his foot around the door and shut it behind himself.

"He's just house sitting, Ron, and you've gone over everything a hundred times. I'm sure he can figure it out, and if the plants suffer, he can call Neville." Hermione chuckled, pulling out her wand to Apparate them to the Portkey station. "Have you got everything?" she asked, one last time.

"Yes, 'Mione, I've got everything, let's go now." He grabbed her arm and dove into the familiar pull of side along apparition

* * *

They'd been planning this trip for months now. Ever since Ron had won the selection for the player exchange with the national Bulgarian team, Hermione had been trying to find a way to make the pieces fit. She didn't want to be away from Ron for a full year, especially right after getting officially engaged, but neither could she afford to take a twelve-month long vacation, as nice as that sounded.

In her effort, she'd reached the point of studying Portkey schedules to figure out how often she could go visit Ron on the continent, when things finally clicked together. It almost sounded too good to be true. Durmstrang was starting a few higher education programmes at the Universityof Sofia. She found a course called _History and Techniques of Southern European Magic_ that seemed to be made just for her, and there seemed to be a few spots still available. Several letters, a Floo call, and a signed recommendation from McGonagall later; Hermione was officially enrolled. All that was left to do was talking about housing and setting the date for the move.

From the cold of February, August seemed so far away, but figuring out lodgings turned out to be more time consuming than foreseen. Hermione was ready to defend the idea of living in the dorms until she was out of breath, but Ron was determined to take up the team on their offer of housing, and if there was one thing they both excelled at, it was arguing. By the time they decided to just get a short-term lease on an apartment conveniently located for both of them, and actually found the place, they were left with just enough time to pack their bags and ask Harry to house-sit.

Once their passports were stamped and they were handed a chipped mug, it finally sunk in how crazy it all was; pushing back the wedding, moving away for a year, chasing this insane opportunity. She looked up at Ron’s face and found him grinning at her, with that sparkle in his eyes that made her fall in love.

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

He covered her hands over the mug, gently brushing his thumb across her wrist, “We’re going on an adventure, ‘Mione, just you and I.”

The first thing Hermione noticed upon arriving was the sun. They left a grey morning in London to find a beautiful clear sky in Sofia with a fresh breeze that almost carried off her hat and made her linen trousers whip around her legs. The second thing she noticed was far less pleasant. Her translation charms turned out to be not quite as accurate and efficient as she would have liked. Navigating public transport while being able to read one word every three was a challenge she hadn’t prepared for, and the reality of what she and Ron had embarked in crashed on her all of a sudden.

“Ron, what are we going to do?” she tugged nervously at a curl that had escaped her plait. “We can’t survive a year unable to speak a word of the language.”

Ron took her hands in his and took a couple of deep breaths until she matched his pace and stopped hyperventilating. 

“We’re going to figure it out one step at a time. There should be someone from the team here to pick me up, we can ask them for help.” He nodded slowly and Hermione eventually gave a small nod of her own. With some semblance of a plan laid out she felt marginally more in control. She was just starting to wonder how they were supposed to recognize their contact when a vaguely familiar voice called from behind her.

“Ermione?”

She watched Ron’s eyes go wide as he saw someone over her shoulder, his entire face opening in an awestruck expression, quickly replaced by something else that she could swear was very near to jealousy. She glanced back to find Viktor Krum waving at them.

“Viktor!” she smiled, all her anxiety melting away at the sight of a familiar face.

“Hi, Hello, Krum- you’re Krum- Viktor, hi,” Ron waved awkwardly as Hermione just pushed her wide-brimmed hat back and hugged him.

“It’s so good to see you, you’re here to pick us up?” she asked.

“I was here for Ronald, you’re a beautiful surprise,” Viktor admitted with a small smile. “Where are you staying?”

Hermione pulled out a note with their new address and happily butchered the hard consonants and guttural vowels trying to read it out. 

“I’ve been having a bit of trouble with translation charms,” she apologized, smiling sheepishly up at him. She was suddenly grateful for the effort Viktor had put into improving his English through years of friendship and equally ashamed for not having done the same to learn his language.

“I help,” he promised, “let’s get you home so I can show Ronald the pitch.”

Hermione let Viktor talk with the taxi driver and just enjoyed Ron’s little dance between still being starstruck over Viktor and his ridiculous jealousy over his short-lived romance with her, way back in fourth year, followed by a long and steady friendship. It was kind of adorable, given the fact that Hermione was currently wearing grandma Cedrella’s ring on her finger.

Luckily enough, the apartment didn’t hide any unwelcome surprises. The owner handed over the keys and some recommendations about how to deal with the neighbours, the trash pickup, and her phone number in case they needed to get a hold of her, then left them to it. It looked exactly like it did in the pictures, small but not cramped, with plenty of light and enough space for the both of them to comfortably work. No Floo network but Hermione was within walking distance from campus and they could almost see the national stadium, hiding the Quidditch training centre under elaborate space displacement and glamours that covered the entire surrounding Borisova Gradina.

While Ron quickly unpacked a few things, Hermione sat in the kitchen with Viktor to have him show her a proper translation charm.

“They teach us for talks with journalists at international games,” he explained when she asked how he got so good at them. “You English never need.”

Hermione couldn’t argue against the evidence of the lasting effects of Britain’s colonialism and privilege.

“Try again,” he encouraged her after correcting her wand movement.

By the time Ron reappeared, his gear in hand, Hermione had gained an acceptable grasp on the spell, enough that she was confident she wasn’t going to die if she got lost in the city. She pointedly ignored Ron’s stink eye and extracted a promise from Viktor to help her practice, then got up to take the walk with them to the training centre.

The walk to the park was short and straightforward. Stepping out of the busy street and into the dappled shadow of the trees felt like walking into a different world. Hermione only half-listened to Viktor listing off all the attractions that filled the Borisova Gradina, from stadiums to lakes, to memorials. She was far more interested in the observatory on the south side and all the soft inviting grass and tree shade she could see herself studying under.

It couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes for them to walk past the National Stadium and then the Army Stadium.

“How many stadiums are there around here?” Ron asked, as Viktor pointed at another sports centre.

“One more than the muggles think,” he replied with a smile, touching his wand to a dilapidated tourist information box. He opened the door and gestured for them to walk in ahead of him. Behind the rusty gates and peeling paint was a welcoming entrance hall with trophies displayed on every wall, framed news articles about the team’s victories, blown up press pictures of the men and women sporting winner grins. Hermione watched Ron’s eyes start sparkling again as he took in everything and realized he was about to meet them for real; not only that, he was going to fly with them for a whole year.

“Let’s meet the team, uh?” Viktor clapped Ron’s shoulder, steering him deeper into the building towards, presumably the locker room.

Hermione followed behind, smiling fondly at how they were already deep in discussion of plays and the latest game, somehow understanding each other perfectly, despite the frequent Bulgarian that slipped in Viktor’s English. She tried to pay attention to the twists and turns of corridors so she could find her own way next time she came around. She almost missed Viktor opening the door to the locker room but she couldn’t miss the whole team bursting into a questionable rendition of “Weasley is Our King” or Ron dropping his bag and proceeding to turn almost redder than their uniforms, up to the tip of his ears. Viktor looked delighted by the entire situation, and Hermione herself couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Welcome to the team, Weasley!”


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione barely had time to get acquainted with the stands before her classes started and she was swept up in the wonder of higher learning. The university itself was oddly familiar, in the way every magical building felt somehow familiar, but at the same time it was distinctly muggle. It was mind-blowing how magical and muggle folk lived so dangerously close together. She could step out of a practical natural magic class and in the same corridor enter a biology laboratory. Muggle students seemed to be using secret passages just as much as wixen ones.

The hot days of August had mellowed into a warm September and she invested the free time she managed to carve out of her day to explore the city. She took long walks in the park to go watch Ron train with the rest of the team. Despite the linguistic barrier, they got on like a house on fire. When he wasn’t taking extra sessions with Lev Zograf, their keeper, Ron joined her and Viktor in city exploration expeditions. She tried not to feel too much like Ron was actively chaperoning them. The colourful buildings and cobbled streets glowed in the warm light of the afternoon, and Viktor took them to the most magically active spots in the city. It appeared that the fragility of the border between magic and muggle wasn’t a prerogative of just the ancient university building but it was widespread throughout the city. One afternoon Hermione’s curiosity got the better of her and she asked Viktor about it. 

“How do you guys live so close together with muggles? The magic is spilling over everywhere, how do they not notice?”

Viktor just shrugged and smiled. “They’re Slavic, they’re used to it.” 

The rather cryptic answer prompted a deep dive into the national library, where Viktor had imprudently brought her during one of their tours of the city. They spent the better part of the afternoon hidden in the back section, perfecting her translation charms so they would work on books, feeling like she was twelve, sneaking into the forbidden section at Hogwarts to figure out how to brew Polyjuice. He eventually helped her get a library card so she wouldn’t have to limit her voracious reading to what the university had to offer.

She immediately maxed out the number of tomes she could carry out.

“I don’t know how to thank you. Are you sure this was what you wanted to spend your afternoon doing?” She smiled sheepishly from behind the stack of books almost reaching her nose.

“I like how smart you are, and I enjoy when you’re happy,” Viktor replied simply. His crooked smile made her heart flutter just like it did so many years before, and if her cheeks felt a little hot when he took half the books from her hands… Well she was glad her dark complexion hid her blush more efficiently than most.

* * *

Quickly the weather became too cold to read outside and Hermione had to regretfully say goodbye to her favourite spot under a willow next to the lake, at least until spring came around again. Luckily the training centre had very comfortable seats where she could set up a workstation and look out from the wall-to-ceiling window at the players running drills in the pitch. Ron had perfectly integrated into the team, thanks to countless friendly games that stretched into the afternoon, the croaking of frogs in the nearby pond mixing with the players’ whoops in the clear sky. Hermione tried not to miss drinks with the team afterwards whenever she could, slowly getting to know the rest of the players, with Viktor’s help, and Ron’s, who seemed to be taking to Bulgarian like a duck to water.

She hadn’t seen him this excited since he had signed for the Cannons, and after a few months of close collaboration he’d even started to get over his awe of the Bulgarians. The wonders hitting each other with clubs and enchanted balls all day did to a man’s self-esteem!

He always had something new to tell her at the end of the day, and she could never tire of listening to him.

“Did you know they have a thing called direct doors here?” he mentioned one time while he made dinner. “They’re a bit like our Floo network but cleaner and smoother, they only go to one place though, so maybe more like the vanishing cabinet we had at Hogwarts. Anyway, Viktor told me there is one at the training centre that goes to the National stadium.”

“Oh, he’s  _ Viktor _ now,” she asked casually “no more Krum, Viktor Krum, ah….” She fanned herself with her notes, giving a decent imitation of Ron’s breathless sigh.

“Shut up,” he chuckled throwing a kitchen towel at her. He turned back to the stove to hide the blush on his face, but he couldn’t hide his ears from Hermione. “I’ve seen the man naked, I think first name basis is fair.”

“Lucky,” Hermione commented.

“IN THE SHOWERS!” Ron added scandalised

“Even luckier, naked  _ and  _ wet,” Hermione doubled down, biting her cheek not to laugh.

“HERMIONE!” The shriek was what made her break. She got up and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, how about  _ we  _ get naked and wet?” she proposed slipping a hand under his shirt.

“I suppose I can set a timer on this...”

She would have been jealous of how quickly Ron got his feet under him, bonding with each player, if it wasn’t for Ana, the PR manager. She sometimes came to join her in her study nest to keep her company and keep an eye on the team at the same time.

They slowly formed a quiet understanding that developed into a tentative friendship, warming up as the weather got colder. Eventually she started filling Hermione in on the team gossip, starting with the fact that she was married to Clara, their star chaser, but managed to keep it out of the tabloids by a miracle of media management.

“I’m very good at my job.” She winked.

* * *

Hermione realized just how comfortable Ron had gotten with the team one November afternoon. She’d stayed at the library until closing time, struggling to master the spellcasting techniques they had gone over in class. Apparently Slavic cultures had an entirely different way to channel magic, even with the most basic spells. The result was the same but the process was anchored to the flow of natural magic of the environment, traversing through the wix’s core instead of originating from it. It made every spell slower but much more stable, if one could do it correctly, and apparently it made wandless magic a lot easier, at least in theory.

She dragged her feet up the stairs, frustration weighing down her shoulders. She wanted to shower, eat and curl up in bed with Ron; he always knew how to make her feel better about academics. What she didn’t expect was to find Viktor in her kitchen, wearing Molly’s apron and cooking something that filled the house with a delicious meaty smell, and Lev on the couch with Ron, watching Ron’s old Viktor figurine, from their unfortunate World Cup final, do tricks five inches from the coffee table.

“Hey, ‘Mione!” Ron greeted her. “Viktor’s making kyufte for dinner. He’s been boasting about how good his cooking is and we just had to put him to the test.”

“Almost ready, man of little faith!” Viktor’s voice came from the kitchen, laced with amusement.

Ron’s grin fell when he saw Hermione. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, jumping over the back of the sofa to take the stack of books from her hands and set them down on a shelf.

“I...” she shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. They got stuck halfway to the ends and she sighed. It had started as a neat bun, but now it probably resembled a nest and she felt just as much out of sorts as her hair. “It's been a long day, I didn’t expect guests.” She gave Ron a tired smile.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Lev interjected, standing up. He picked up his coat from the armchair and gave Hermione a smile on his way out. “I’ll see you at the next pub night, Hermione.”

She waved apologetically at him and nodded at his invitation. Ron smiled at him over Hermione’s head and gently pulled her in a hug, letting her bury her face in his shoulder.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, rubbing her back gently. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her until the tension started to release from her shoulders.

“I think I should go,” Viktor said, standing back at the kitchen door.

“No, Vik, you cooked, we can’t kick you out,” Ron argued.

He shook his head giving the both of them a small smile. “It’s fine, I’m intruding. We can have dinner together another time,” he promised.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Hermione interjected, pulling back from Ron’s embrace. “Let me just grab a shower and I’ll join you. Please stay?”

She could see him still hesitating to accept the invitation, his eyes flicking between her face and Ron’s but eventually he relented, “Okay, I’ll go open the wine.”

Hermione reached up to cup Ron’s cheek and stood on her tiptoes to press her lips gently against his. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to convey just how grateful she was to have him with just that touch.

The shower was a quick and efficient affair. She tried her best not to get her hair involved, it was a problem for another time, but the feeling of hot water on her skin was enough to wash away a bit of her frustration with the day. She emerged from the bathroom clean, moisturized, and smelling of shea butter in the best way possible. She slipped on some soft cotton pants, and one of Ron’s Cannons hoodies and joined the men at the dinner table.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” She brushed her hand across Ron’s shoulders as she walked past him and took her seat at the table. “It smells delicious, Viktor, what are we eating?” she asked.

“Kyufte, Baba’s recipe,” he replied with a proud smile.

He was still wearing Molly’s frilly apron over a sweater with the sleeves rolled up and the entire ensemble was absurd enough to lift Hermione’s mood.

“They’re these delicious little meatballs with secret spices, and allegedly no magic involved,” Ron elaborated, giving Viktor a dubious look at the last part.

“And it’s your grandma’s recipe?” Hermione asked, vaguely recognizing the word.

“No, Baba’s my family’s old house-elf, I learn watching her,” Viktor explained, serving them and placing a bowl of tarator dip between them.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, “You still hold house-elves?” She tried her best to keep the judgment out of her tone, but Viktor’s face hinted to the fact that she hadn’t been quite successful.

“No, they just live with me. I freed them all a few years after you started SPEW. They did a…” He glanced at Ron when he struggled to find the right word, “Unity?”

“Union,” Ron supplied. Viktor nodded with a smile as Ron went on. “Viktor helped his own household to unionize and offered shelter to any elf who wanted to leave their current employer.” Ron grinned, “He caused quite the commotion; you would have been proud.”

Hermione smiled softly, imagining Viktor spearheading a parallel movement to SPEW with the influence he held as an international Quidditch star. 

“I am,” she assured, watching a pleased little smile stretch on Viktor’s lips as his cheeks started to colour. 

“Enough about me, eat. You work hard and need fuel.”

“I have to say, mate,” Ron started, his mouth still full of his second bite, “This is amazing.” He swallowed and waved his fork with a grin. “We just might have to keep you forever.”

Hermione smiled to herself at the shenanigans. The way to Ron’s heart had always been through his stomach, and she had to admit, Viktor did have some great skills. He could even pull off the apron.

“Are you feeling better, ‘Ermione?” Viktor asked, in an attempt to divert the attention.

“Mh? Yeah. It was nothing really.” She gave them a small smile, “I’m just having a hard time with classes. You guys have a completely different way to cast and I can’t get the hang of it.”

Viktor nodded, giving an understanding hum.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked, glancing back and forth to each of them with a quizzical look on his face. “Spellcasting is spellcasting. You get your verbal component, your physical part, the power and intent, and then poof, magic comes out.”

Hermione chuckled, “I can’t argue with that. But when we cast, we draw power from our core out through our wand. They actually harness ambient magic to cast even the most basic enchantments. And I understand the theory, I just can’t do it. There is too much around and I can’t control it.” She sighed.

“I can help,” Viktor said, making them both turn to look at him. “I take you to the sea this weekend and we can train,” he offered.

“Would you, really? That would be wonderful.” She didn’t want to ask for a tutor, it was just too humiliating. It felt like asking your university professor for help learning to read. But Viktor was offering, and there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his eyes.

Viktor nodded with an easy smile, “Of course.”

“Am I invited to this thing too?” Ron interjected.

“Only if you bring your broom, Weasley,” Viktor replied with a chuckle. “You’re not the only one who could use the help,” Viktor told Hermione conspiratorially.

“Hey! I’m doing great!”

Viktor insisted on helping them clean up and left them with enough leftovers for lunch the following day. Soon enough, the kitchen was clean, the beer bottles were empty and there were no more excuses to keep him just a little longer. He bid them goodbye with a hug and a promise to be in touch with plans for the weekend.

“I’m glad you and Viktor are friends now,” Hermione mentioned as they got ready for bed.

“He’s a cool guy.” Ron shrugged. “I mean he’s  _ cool _ , like youngest-professional-seeker-in-history cool, but he’s also just… a cool guy,” he elaborated as he changed into his flannel pajamas.

“Very eloquent,” Hermione teased him.

“You know what I mean,” Ron argued, throwing a decorative pillow at her, making her chuckle as she dodged.

“I know, I know. I’m just glad you see it too; you were so weird around him when we first met him.”

“Yeah, well, fourth year was a weird year all around,” Ron replied, pulling back the covers and getting into bed.

She hummed in vague agreement as she slid under the covers. Dealing with the triwizard tournament, the rise of Voldemort, and the sudden realization that she could feel something other than friendship or deep rooted annoyance towards Ron, while still pursuing a relationship with Viktor had not been easy on her fourteen year old self.

“Viktor doesn’t use translation charms with us.” It had struck her as odd as they were talking at dinner, everyone else made liberal use of them, but he’d never used them except to show her how to cast them properly.

“We try not to use them when we train, they have this weird delay, slowing down communication, so if we can, we try to just make do with half English, half Bulgarian,” Ron explained, tugging the covers up, “Plus, his English isn’t half bad, certainly better than my Bulgarian, and he says he likes to practice.”

* * *

Saturday morning found Hermione bundled up in a thick sweater, her books and notes carefully packed in her bag, and her favourite scarf wrapped around her neck. Ron was still packing up his gear when Viktor showed up, ready to Apparate them to a secluded cove a bit south of Burgas.

Even with the cold wind blowing in her face, Hermione could appreciate the beauty of it. The rocky cliff left only a sliver of sand before the shoreline. A rocky promontory protected them from indiscreet eyes; that and the cold, that efficiently kept people away from the beach.

“What are we supposed to do here?” she asked. 

The water lapped gently at the smooth sand and sparse rocks covered in bright green algae. Each wave lifted the long filaments up, only to smooth them down as it retreated.

“I’m teaching you to see magic like we do,” Viktor replied with a smile as he sat on the edge of the short stone pier to take off his boots. He stuffed each sock in a shoe and rolled up his trousers.

Hermione looked at him dubiously as he uncovered more and more of his muscular legs before hopping off the pier, walking barefoot on the wet sand.

“Come on, ‘Mione, shoes off.” He grinned at her as the first wave hit the sand behind him, the water bending around his ankles, shaping the sand around his feet.

She eventually shook her head with a sigh, she’d gone this far, she might as well give it a try. She quickly took off her shoes and curled her toes in the cold soft sand, getting a feel of it before walking up to the water next to Viktor. She was about to ask  _ What now  _ when another gentle wave hit the shore, pulling a surprised yelp from her.

“Fuck, Merlin’s balls, it’s freezing!” She hopped back, out of the reach of the water, amid the boys amused laughter.

“It’s not that bad,” Viktor chuckled, reaching out for her hand.

“Yeah, for you!” She retorted. “What’s next? A nice swim in Lake Baikal?”

“That’s Russia, give it a moment, you’ll get used to it,” Viktor placated her, gently pulling her back to the shoreline. “Close your eyes and wait for the next wave,” he instructed her. “Let it go around you, feel the power of the water.”

Hermione gritted her teeth as the freezing water hit her ankles again. It cooled down every toe, caressed her ankles, and dropped tiny shells in the dip of sand where she stood. In a span of a breath, it was retreating, leaving new shapes on the shore behind it.

“Again. Breathe with it,” Viktor told her, letting go of her hand.

She felt Viktor take a few steps away to speak with Ron, something about flying laps in the woods right behind them. She tuned them out to focus on the shapes each wave took around her legs, the way she interrupted and influenced the flow of energy just by being in it.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, each wave was different from the one before, impossible to predict but with the same mark of quiet relentless energy.

“You’re starting to understand, yes?” Viktor asked, breaking her concentration.

Hermione opened her eyes and nodded, “I think so.”

“Try Wingardium Leviosa on that rock,” he pointed at a pebble a few feet away, right past the waterline, a couple inches under water. It looked like it would skip nicely on the surface if one knew how to throw it right. “Make the water work for you,” he reminded her.

Hermione nodded and pulled out her wand. She took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill her lungs and, as the gentle sound of the wave crashing to the shore reached her ear, she cast, following the curve of the water with her wand and the flick of it breaking into the sand. The pebble shot up six feet in the air. The surprise broke her concentration and it plummeted back down into the clear water with a small splash.

Viktor chuckled, “You’ll get it with more practice,” he assured, “you don’t have to push the magic out of you, it is like water flowing, you only have to let it.”

Hermione nodded. She was stupidly giddy about having cast sort of successfully a first year spell.

“Try again,” Viktor told her, pointing to the same pebble.

When she finally stepped out of the water, the tide had started to change and her feet were all wrinkly, but her grasp on the technique was sensibly better. Sure, she still couldn’t achieve Viktor’s level of smooth elegance, making his pebble float right over the surface of the water, as if it was made of cork instead of solid rock, but she was miles ahead of where she had been that morning.

She sat on the edge of the pier to put her socks and shoes back on and looked up at where Ron was showing off tricks on his broom to a clearly amused Viktor, still standing barefoot on the sand. The few months with the team had clearly done Ron good, he looked more secure on his broom, and nimbler than Hermione remembered him being before.

“Dinner at ours?” Hermione called, pulling the men’s attention. “Ron can make Mrs Weasley’s roast, as a thank you for today,” she offered.

“So you’re just going to offer my services like that?” Ron teased her as he floated down gently and hopped off his broom.

“Would you rather have me make it?” She smiled innocently up at him as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Circe spare us.” He laughed, leaning down to give her a quick kiss, “You can have the cauldrons, just leave the pots and pans to me.” He glanced at Viktor, “So, are you coming?”

* * *

Soon December came knocking with its snow storms, early dusk made way for city lights to shine and draw magic and Muggle closer than they’d ever been. By that time, Hermione had grown familiar with the quietest parts of the Borisova Gradina where Viktor dragged her to help her get in touch with ambiental magic, away from the noise of the city and closer to the raw power of the old trees and the frozen ground. 

On one memorable occasion, when she’d been waiting for him and Ron to finally emerge from the locker room, after a late one-on-one session, it had started to snow. Big, fluffy flakes quickly covered the ground before the wind picked up and turned it into a blizzard. She should have known to be wary of the mischievous glint in Viktor’s eyes. He’d tackled her into the snow and by the time she managed an acceptable umbrella charm they were both soaked to the bone, frozen crystals clinging to the fur of Viktor’s coat and her scarf. The elation of being able to channel the storm into her own casting was more than enough to keep Hermione warm, despite the fact that she could barely feel the tip of her fingers. The way it helped her defend from Ron’s snowballs helped with the feeling of accomplishment as well.

Viktor’s creative and holistic approach to training her always made for entertaining pub stories. All the players had gotten invested in her progress and demanded updates whenever she joined them for drinks. They were supportive of her smallest achievements, cheering for her basic self-stirring spoon just as much as they cheered for Ron’s new tricks on the field a few hours earlier.

She wasn’t sure when it happened but it wasn’t just Ana now, the whole team seemed to have adopted her.

“We’ll go get the next round,” Ana announced, grabbing Hermione to help her. “How were your first few months here?” she asked as they waited for the drinks. “Balkan winter treating you well?” she teased.

“Great, actually.” Hermione had been a little surprised at how easily she adapted to life in Sofia. “Viktor has helped a lot in getting my bearings and exploring the city,” she mentioned. “And haven’t you heard? I mastered a balkan-proof umbrella charm.”

Ana hummed cryptically, giving her a small smile. “I have to say I was curious to meet the woman who would give Vik up, but more than that I wanted to see what kind of impressive man could compete with him.”

Hermione glanced at the table, where Ron was in the middle of a very animated reenactment of a play.

“Did we live up to expectation?” she asked, unsure what Ana expected of her, she looked like she was gearing up to something serious.

“I understand what he saw in you, Hermione Granger, I like you,” she grabbed her glass when the bartender placed it on the counter and raised it to her in toast, “and Ronald is an impressive guy,” she admitted with a smile. “Just don’t give Viktor any illusions, okay?” Ana gave her a pointed look and levitated the rest of the glasses behind herself, waiting for Hermione to follow her back.

It took a moment for Hermione to understand what she was implying. Did Viktor still harbour feelings for her? After almost ten years? Sure, as far as she knew he hadn’t dated anyone, but he could just have been very discreet about it to avoid press attention, that’s what Ana did for her relationship with Clara. And they didn’t necessarily talk about those things… Except she did talk about Ron… A lot… Viktor was maybe the third person to know about the engagement after Harry and Luna.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what Ana had implied all night. Even as she twisted her hair and carefully wrapped a silk scarf around her head to protect it. She glanced at the mirror, seeing Ron already in bed, waiting for her. She was happy with him, he was the man she imagined herself raising 2.5 kids with, he’d been there through thick and thin already, he was her best friend, whom she loved dearly, and yet… She would be lying if she said she hadn’t fantasized about Viktor once or twice. How different her life would be if she’d made a different choice.

* * *

Christmas came around with an obligatory trip back to England, Hermione wasn’t going to miss her first Christmas as an almost official Weasley, as fun as the team galas, fundraisers and events seemed. They were back in the welcoming cold of Sofia by New Year’s Eve, with a few more pieces of knitwear in the wardrobe and a lumpy package to deliver to Viktor from Mrs Weasley.

Ana had insisted they come along to Mezek Fortress for the annual charity game on New Year’s Eve and follow to Viktor’s house for the afterparty. The blizzard that started the previous day, covering the entirety of Sofia in a thick coat of snow forced the cancellation of the game but, in turn, made the party all the more magical. The snowflakes dancing against the dark velvet of the night were more enchanting than any firework show, especially when looked at from the warmth of Viktor’s living room. The colourful lights streaming out from the wall-to-ceiling window cast an even more whimsical feel to the view outside as they danced the night away.

The clock ticked closer and closer to midnight as they danced, ate and drank. Viktor had insisted on baking the banica himself while a veritable army of house-elves toasted to his health with Elven wine. A few minutes from midnight they tuned in to hear the Minister of magic’s speech to the nation. Hermione caught a few words here and there. Something about unity, prosperity through hardship, and general encouraging wishes for the new year.

“Well, that was nice and all but I’m missing Ladouvane,” Lev sighed flopping backwards on the couch as soon as the radio was switched back to music.

“It’s not like any of us would be able to take part, we’re all married,” Clara interjected, “or on our way to,” she added, raising her glass towards Ron.

“That’s mighty disrespectful towards our host, and maybe Ana wants to know who her next wife will be,” he retorted, sticking his tongue out at her. That earned him a slap on the back of his head from Ana.

“I already know all I need to about the future of my love life, and we don’t have a fortune teller anyway,” Viktor pointed out, preempting the argument.

“I wasn’t half bad at divination back in my day,” Lev grumbled, accepting a refill of champagne.

When the clock struck midnight and the church bells started tolling all over the city, Ron dipped her to give her a kiss that tasted of sweet wine and a promise of forever, and yet, Hermione couldn’t help but notice Viktor clinking his glass with an elderly house-elf while everyone else in the room exchanged kisses with their significant others. His words echoed in her head like a spell she couldn’t quite untangle.  _ I already know.  _ All of a sudden she wasn’t so sure he did. She wasn’t quite sure  _ she  _ did.

* * *

January disappeared in a blink and before she knew it, Hermione was staring midterms in the face. Armed with relentless training with and without Viktor, she spent endless hours at her favourite quiet spot at the library or at the training centre, helped by the longer and longer hours Ron spent at the centre, sometimes on his own or just with Viktor. It had become something of a running joke in the team - if you couldn’t find Viktor you only had to look for the red hair. She made the most of the free afternoons and the willing help of every member of the team to practice and revise, and by the time the snow started melting she’d emerged on the other side of the exams like a spring flower poking her head through the frozen ground. She could smile at the sun after spending all winter cooped up inside libraries and lecture halls. 

With the warmer weather, practising at the beach took an entirely different tone. Layers of clothes started coming off and the cool water became a relief from the heat of the sun. She enjoyed the view as Ron showed off the physical work he’d been doing all year, throwing a quaffle back and forth with Viktor in their team-branded swimwear. Hermione’s mastery of Slavic techniques might have improved dramatically over the winter, but even with the grounding lap of the waves against her legs, focusing on the practice curse box instead of the men behind her was harder than she would have liked to admit. More than once the box ended up abandoned on a beach towel along with her notes for her final project while she joined Ron and Viktor for a swim.

The beginning of spring ushered in the European Championship, and the first friendly games that preceded it. Hermione had seen Ron get excited about Quidditch; she’d never known him not to. Back in school, before he made the team, every game was a production. Then there had been the first World Cup they went to together; it had been all he could talk about for weeks. She could have never imagined that a friendly game between Greece and Bulgaria could send him up to undiscovered heights of excitement. The day of, she’d found him waiting for her at home in full face paint, a Krum jersey on, barely covering the drawing of a hand catching a snitch moving in slow motions across his chest.

“Please tell me it’s not a tattoo.”

“It’s just paint,” Ron replied with a bright grin, “like it?”

“It’s… really good, actually,” Hermione admitted, reaching out to touch, feeling the layer of magic over Ron’s skin, the ripple of it against her fingers as they brushed against his chest.

“I’ve been practising all week in the mirror.”

Hermione chuckled. “Are you wearing my Krum jersey?” she asked, running her finger up the lapel to his neck.

“No, I’m wearing  _ my _ Krum jersey, yours is on the bed waiting for you,” he corrected her, smiling when she tugged him down to kiss her, careful not to smudge the paint.

“I love you so much.” Ron’s unapologetic enthusiasm for what he enjoyed had been one of the things that made her fall in love, seeing that override the hangups he had about her ex was just the cherry on top.

“I know, hurry or we’re going to be late.”

* * *

The official stadium, hidden behind the frankly fascinating structure of Mezek Fortress, was every bit as impressive as the one in Dartmoor, with the added benefit of being a permanent structure. Ana had secured them both a spot in the team box with her, right above the bench. They had the perfect view of the rings and Hermione could feel Ron vibrating with excitement as they waited for the teams to file in.

A bit of Ron’s enthusiasm rubbed off on her when the game really started, and she found herself shouting with every smooth pass and flawless play the team executed, whizzing past the Greeks to get to the goals. They quickly built a bit of an advantage, but just as Clara headed for the goals again, Lev got hit with a bludger in the leg. With their keeper injured the Greeks started gaining ground. Blue and red streaks whirled on the field and Hermione had to borrow Ron’s omniocular to follow the action, developing too quickly for human eyes. From then on, the game became a nail-biting battle for the top. Bulgaria struggled, losing more and more ground as the minutes ticked by. Viktor’s hand closing around the snitch put an end to the game, winning it by the narrowest margin. Ron screamed, jumping up from his seat, and pulled off his jersey to show off his chest paint. The entire stadium erupted in cheers as the maxi screens showed Viktor taking a lap around the stands, gradually spiralling down to the grassy field. He held the snitch aloft and pointed to the team box with a grin. The cameras turned to show Ron’s face and Hermione heard the commentator say something about the skilful paint job and international fans, but she was too busy trying to keep her fiancé from tumbling over the rail to pay any real attention to the details.

After a post-game press conference that seemed to never end, they all tumbled through the direct door to the training centre and from there Apparated to Ana’s loft to celebrate the opening of the season. They barely got their balance and Ana was already opening the champagne and setting up the camera for a photo of the team celebrating. Hermione let herself be carried away by the cheerful atmosphere, never saying no to one more toast. It didn’t take long for everyone to start recounting every play in detail as if they hadn’t all just seen it. Before the clock struck midnight, Lev was already embellishing the amount of damage his leg had taken and Ron was out of breath repeating how awesome Viktor’s chase had been. The paint had gotten smudged but his cheeks were just as red underneath it, whether from the excitement or the vodka Clara had brought out to follow the champagne, it was hard to tell.

“He was just showing off for his new favourite,” Clara complained when Viktor pulled out the winning snitch. That prompted a chorus of “Weasley is Our King” which Hermione joined, sloshing her drink from side to side.

“Am I really your favourite?” Ron asked when the refrain died down.

“It certainly isn’t any of these assholes!” Viktor replied, pointing at the team, sprawled all over the furniture, making them all laugh and boo at him. “Shut up, you love him just as much as I do!”

“I wouldn’t say just as much...” Ana mumbled under her breath.

Before Hermione could ask her what she meant, Ron had grabbed Viktor’s shirt and was kissing him, right on the mouth, smudging paint over his face. It looked clumsy and uncoordinated but that was her current fiancé kissing her ex. And Viktor was definitely kissing back.

When Ron pulled back Lev immediately wolf-whistled at them, earning himself a slap upside the head from Ivan.

“Sorry.” Ron glanced at Hermione with a sheepish grin. She shrugged, the alcohol delaying her reaction. 

“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about it once or twice,” she replied, earning herself another round of whistles from the whole team.

One by one, as the excitement died down and the alcohol worked its magic, they crashed on couches, beds and soft carpets. Around five am Hermione was more asleep than awake with her head on Clara’s leg, lulled by Ron’s voice mumbling about swoops and rolls and that perfect catch.

“The Baba Vanga Bulletin is in.” It was Ana, somehow still clear headed enough to work. “You guys got a picture.”

Hermione cracked an eye open to see her unfold the paper and show the article on the team win. Half the page was occupied by a picture of Viktor holding the snitch up and pointing at Ron, clearly visible on the side, shirt off and paint job in clear view.


	3. Chapter 3

That Saturday was hair-wash day. Hermione had set aside the day to de-stress and take care of herself after a week of practical classes on curse-breaking that had pushed her to the limit of human tolerance. She washed everything and deep conditioned, then grabbed the detangling brush and joined Ron in the living room. She sat on the floor between his legs and let him work the brush through her hair, slowly and methodically, one section at a time, like she had taught him.

It was so relaxing to let him take care of her hair, knowing it was in good hands. He was gentle, careful not to pull as her hair took back their shape, each curl tight and defined. She could almost fall asleep and let it be almost magic.

“Hey, ‘Mione...” he started hesitantly.

“Mm?”

“I think I might be bi.” 

She felt him twist a lock of hair around his fingers before letting it fall into place. 

“Because you kissed Viktor once? You don’t have to question your entire identity just for a drunken kiss,” she pointed out, hoping it was the right thing to say when your fiancè decides to come out.

“No… well, yes, but it’s more than that,” he sighed, stumbling through the words.

Hermione kept quiet, giving him the space to put his feelings into words. It was clearly something that burned inside him, needing to come out. He never brought up trivial topics when he had his hands in her hair.

“He’s a great guy, you know?”

Hermione smiled “I know.” Her voice was full of warm fondness, whether for Viktor or for Ron it was hard to say, “It was why I dated him.”

“I think I have feelings for him.” It was barely more than a whisper, but Hermione couldn’t miss it. “Of the romantic kind,” he clarified, “I don’t want to not marry you,” he hurried to add, “I love you, but I think I might be starting to love him too a little bit.” He ran his fingers through her hair, separating the curls, making sure there were no knots before moving on to the next section. “Do you think it’s possible to love more than one person at a time?”

The weight of the question settled on Hermione’s shoulders. Everything that had been taught to her pointed to the negative. People were supposed to find The One, get married and have children, it was neat and structured with precise rules like magic. But in the last few months she'd been forced to face the fact that even magic could be more fluid and organic than she’d been led to believe. Viktor had shown her how to follow the input reality gave her, to build with what was around her without denying herself the possibility. And if anyone was witness to the transcendent power of love that was her and Ron, who watched Harry lay down his life and take it back again. How could she argue for the finite nature of love when she’d seen its ever-multiplying presence?

“I think it is.”

That simple sentence, so quietly spoken in the silence between them, like that first Wingardium Leviosa she’d cast standing in freezing water, opened a door into the unknown that they both had to navigate. What did that admission mean for their relationship? Did it have to mean anything at all?

“I think I never stopped loving him, I just started loving you,” she admitted.

Ron didn’t speak, simply gathered her hair up, quickly wove a loose braid, and laid it down on her back. “We should talk to Viktor.”

Hermione nodded “Is that what you want?” she asked, turning to face him.

“I don’t  _ not  _ want it… Do you?”

Was she ready to throw her relationship in disarray for just a chance of maybe something more and messier instead of the neat plan she and Ron had devised? As she looked into Ron’s eyes, clear and honest as they’d always been, waiting for her answer, she realized she wasn’t gambling anything. Ron’s love wasn’t at risk, she would only be reaching for something more, something bigger for both of them.

“I want to talk to him.”

* * *

Deciding to have that talk and actually doing it were two very different things. The perfect moment never seemed to come around, and with every day they hesitated, the date for their return to England drew closer and closer. And yet, no shared dinner was right enough, no late-night training session late enough, no walk in the park long enough to bring the topic up. In the end, Viktor had to be the one to take the initiative and shatter the invisible wall between them. He’d been giving them a tour of Mezek Fortress before another game, the first official one of the season and he stopped right outside the banquet hall.

“You have been acting odd for weeks. Is something wrong?”

Hermione glanced at Ron, still unsure how to word the realization they both had come to.

“Is it because of that kiss? It doesn’t have to mean anything—”

“But we want it to!” Hermione interjected.

“You...”

“Want it to mean something. More than something,” Ron said, gathering courage from Hermione’s outburst.

“If you want as well,” Hermione added, to fill the silence that stretched between them. In all her overthinking, she’d never considered the fact that Viktor might not want whatever it was that Ron and her were offering. 

“We would like to… have a relationship, with you. The three of us, together. if that is something you would like.” Ron gestured vaguely between the three of them.

“You’re not mad I kissed Ron,” Viktor said, sounding hesitant as he glanced between Hermione and Ron.

“I mean, I was doing most of the kissing,” Ron replied.

“And it would be hypocritical of me. I did get to kiss you first.” Hermione smiled. “You don’t have to decide right now, and I promise nothing is going to change if you say no. Nothing has to change at all, we’ll still be friends and—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Ron asked.

“Yes.” Viktor repeated, steadier, with more conviction.

“Yes!” Hermione grinned, glancing at Ron.

“Yes.”

* * *

The sticky heat of summer filled the streets of Sofia while the tentative sweetness of new love filled Hermione’s life. It pulled her attention away from the taxing requirements of her final project with the call of long afternoons spent with the legs of her pants rolled up and her feet in the small lake, while Viktor told them about the history of the park and teased Ron for his inability to roll the R of Borisova Gradina.

Soft spoken Bulgarian endearments filled her head just as much as Latin incantations, and the taste of kisses lingered on her lips as she chewed on the tip of her quill, studying the curse structure. Ron was a blessed point of balance, keeping her and Viktor up in a constant dance of stress and relaxation, organising dinners and dates and deciding where they would sleep each night. They’d go off to fly, leaving her free afternoons to practice and study, but always made sure to bring back food for her and share dinner. And then, suddenly, June came to an end.

Hermione fixed her robes as soon as her name was called out and walked up the five short steps to the dais to receive the parchment certifying her successful completion of the programme and the deserved praise from all the faculty. When she looked down towards the gathered friends and family, she saw her men, side by side, smiling at her, shining with pride. She knew Viktor had taken Ron shopping for a new set of robes and they’d insisted it was a surprise. He looked dashing and she couldn’t wait a single minute to kiss both of them. 

Viktor took them out for a fancy dinner and let Hermione talk about her final curse-breaking project as if she hadn’t been talking about it nonstop for a month and a half, nodding where appropriate and asking for more details. They all went back to Viktor’s, falling into his oversized bed in a tangle of limbs. The weather control charms worked perfectly to keep the sirupy heat of the still summer air at bay, but they still ended up laying naked covered in sweat, lazy fingers trailing overheated skin.

“I’ve always said we were a family of winners,” Ron commented, apropos nothing. “With you, Viktor, the Weasleys have bagged all the surviving Triwizard champions.”

Hermione chuckled, “What Ron is trying to say is that it feels like it was meant to be.”

“I meant what I said.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story of soft feelings and growth, leave some love in the comments to keep me writing.  
> Support ethically non monogamous people.


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